Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated)
    Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated)
    Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated)
    Ebook1,198 pages20 hours

    Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated)

    By John Donne

    5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature's finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents the complete poetical works of John Donne, with beautiful illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. Donne's sparkling wit and imaginative conceits have delighted readers over the centuries; now you can own his entire poetical genius on your eReader! (3MB Version 1)

    * Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Donne's life and works
    * Concise introductions to the poetry and other works
    * Images of how the poetry books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
    * Excellent formatting of the poems
    * Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
    * Easily locate the poems you want to read
    * Almost the complete prose, with rare texts like Donnes study of suicide BIATHANATOS, appearing for the first time in digital print
    * Includes Donne's letters - spend hours exploring the poet's personal correspondence
    * Features three biographies, including Izaak Waltons famous contemporary memoir - discover Donne's literary life in detail!
    * Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres

    Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse our range of exciting titles

    CONTENTS:

    The Poetry Collections
    SONGS AND SONNETS
    ELEGIES
    DIVINE POEMS
    HOLY SONNETS
    OTHER DIVINE POEMS
    SATIRES
    MARRIAGE SONGS
    VERSE LETTERS
    EPICEDES AND OBSEQUIES
    EPIGRAMS
    INFINITATI SACRUM
    THE ANNIVERSARIES
    LATIN POEMS
    DOUBTFUL VERSES

    The Poems
    LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
    LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

    The Prose
    BIATHANATOS
    PSEUDO-MARTYR
    IGNATIUS HIS CONCLAVE
    DEVOTIONS UPON EMERGENT OCCASIONS
    PARADOXES
    PROBLEMS

    The Letters
    LIST OF LETTERS

    The Biographies
    THE LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE by Izaak Walton
    JOHN DONNE by Arthur Symons
    JOHN DONNE by Robert Lynd

    Please click here to browse our other titles
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDelphi Classics
    Release dateAug 11, 2015
    ISBN9781908909763
    Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated)
    Author

    John Donne

    Enter the Author Bio(s) here.

    Read more from John Donne

    Related to Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated)

    Titles in the series (100)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Poetry For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      What Makes a Poet Difficult?

      May 28, 2019

      What Makes a Poet Difficult?
      6 min read

    • Article

      Where To Start With Louise Glück, Winner Of The 2020 Nobel Prize In Literature

      Oct 14, 2020

      The Swedish Academy has awarded this year's Nobel Prize in literature to Louise Gluck, a former U.S. poet laureate. The 16th woman to win the prestigious prize and the first American woman since Toni Morrison in 1993, Gluck is the author of 12 poetry

      3 min read

    • Article

      Ulysses: Good or Bad?

      Feb 2, 2018

      Ulysses: Good or Bad?
      10 min read

    • Article

      Fighting with Czesław Miłosz

      Oct 24, 2018

      Fighting with Czesław Miłosz
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Language the Poet Knows

      Dec 11, 2018

      The Language the Poet Knows
      4 min read

    • Article

      Pre-order* Your Copy Today At

      Mar 9, 2021

      Pre-order* Your Copy Today At
      1 min read

    • Article

      Visible Man

      Dec 2, 2019

      Visible Man
      4 min read

    • Article

      He Was Imprisoned And Losing His Mind. 'Anna Karenina' Saved Him

      Apr 5, 2019

      A man is trapped in prison for a made-up crime. He's overwhelmed by hopelessness and anger. That is until he hears a knock on the wall ... and words from another time and place.

      4 min read

    • Article

      Four Poems

      Nov 1, 2019

      Four Poems
      7 min read

    • Article

      Wide Open Wordsmiths

      May 5, 2022

      Wide Open Wordsmiths
      5 min read

    • Article

      In The Spotlight:your Writing Dark Side

      Dec 7, 2023

      Spooky season evidently offered creative inspiration aplenty for the WM writers, who responded to the call for writing in November’s crime-themed issue on the theme of ‘Dark Side’ with our fullest mailbox yet. The poetry and prose sent in demonstrate

      4 min read

    • Article

      Bard In The Woods

      Nov 30, 2020

      Bard In The Woods
      4 min read

    • Article

      Poetry Rx: This Is the Year

      Jan 3, 2019

      Poetry Rx: This Is the Year
      7 min read

    • Article

      Processing The Pandemic

      Oct 7, 2021

      Processing The Pandemic
      4 min read

    • Article

      A Year in Reading: Mamta Chaudhry

      Dec 23, 2020

      At a time when I’m housebound and only my imagination is free to roam, it is head-spinning to read the phrase, “if our life is vagabond our memory is sedentary” and wonder if in our ceaseless rush forward, these are days, too, that will be indelibly

      4 min read

    • Article

      The Siren’s Call

      Dec 3, 2020

      The Siren’s Call
      4 min read

    • Article

      The Art of Poetry No. 106

      Dec 15, 2019

      The Art of Poetry No. 106
      30 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated)

    5/5

    1 rating1 review

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      Very nice poetry. Delphi complete works series is very good.

    Book preview

    Delphi Complete Poetical Works of John Donne (Illustrated) - John Donne

    JOHN DONNE

    (1572-1631)

    Contents

    The Poetry Collections

    SONGS AND SONNETS

    ELEGIES

    DIVINE POEMS

    HOLY SONNETS

    OTHER DIVINE POEMS

    SATIRES

    MARRIAGE SONGS

    VERSE LETTERS

    EPICEDES AND OBSEQUIES

    EPIGRAMS

    INFINITATI  SACRUM

    THE ANNIVERSARIES

    LATIN POEMS

    DOUBTFUL VERSES

    The Poems

    LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

    LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

    The Prose

    BIATHANATOS

    PSEUDO-MARTYR

    IGNATIUS HIS CONCLAVE

    DEVOTIONS UPON EMERGENT OCCASIONS

    PARADOXES

    PROBLEMS

    The Letters

    LIST OF LETTERS

    The Biographies

    THE LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE by Izaak Walton

    JOHN DONNE by Arthur Symons

    JOHN DONNE by Robert Lynd

    © Delphi Classics 2012

    Version 1

    JOHN DONNE

    By Delphi Classics, 2012

    NOTE

    When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.

    The Poetry Collections

    Bread Street, London — Donne’s birthplace

    London in Donne’s time

    SONGS AND SONNETS

    John Donne is now generally considered the most prominent member of what would later be termed the Metaphysical poets - a phrase coined in 1781 by the critic Dr Johnson.  Previously the poet John Dryden had written of Donne in 1693 as affecting the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign; and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softnesses of love. In response to this comment,  Dr Johnson  wrote in his Life of Cowley that at the beginning of the seventeenth century there appeared a race of writers that may be termed the metaphysical poets. The phrase caught on and critics have ever since referred to Donne and fellow poets such as Andrew Marvell and George Herbert in this way. 

    Metaphysical poetry is concerned with abstract thought, imaginative conceits or philosophical subjects treated with levity and irony. Therefore, the metaphysical style of poetry is characterised by wit and intangible conceits.  These poems often provide far-fetched or unusual similes or metaphors, which are then extended in an epigram format. 

    Donne published very little poetry in his lifetime, securing more fame as a preacher of sermons than a writer of verses.  His earliest poems demonstrate an understanding of English society, which he often attacks with harsh criticism. It wasn’t until two years after Donne’s death in 1633, when this famous collection of his songs and sonnets was first published.  Many of the poems are from his early days as a writer and the collection is particularly memorable for the erotic poems it contains.  In these works Donne has been praised for his use of unconventional metaphors, with the most famous being employed to great comedic effect in The Flea.  In the poem, as a flea bites two lovers one after another, the poet compares the act to sex, arguing that they may as well now regard themselves as physical lovers. However, these poems also contain some of the most beautiful poetry from the seventeenth century, with works such as Break of Day and The Sun Rising, exemplifying Donne’s ability to achieve a lyrical beauty and strong atmosphere of passionate love in his poetry.

    Donne as a young man

    CONTENTS

    THE FLEA.

    THE GOOD-MORROW.

    GO AND CATCH A FALLING STAR.

    WOMAN’S CONSTANCY.

    THE UNDERTAKING.

    THE SUN RISING.

    THE INDIFFERENT.

    LOVE’S USURY.

    THE CANONIZATION.

    THE TRIPLE FOOL.

    LOVERS’ INFINITENESS.

    SWEETEST LOVE, I DO NOT GO

    THE LEGACY.

    A FEVER.

    AIR AND ANGELS.

    BREAK OF DAY.

    THE ANNIVERSARY.

    TWICKENHAM GARDEN.

    VALEDICTION TO HIS BOOK.

    COMMUNITY.

    LOVE’S GROWTH.

    LOVE’S EXCHANGE.

    CONFINED LOVE.

    THE DREAM.

    A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING.

    LOVE’S ALCHEMY.

    THE CURSE.

    THE MESSAGE.

    A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY’S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY.

    WITCHCRAFT BY A PICTURE.

    THE BAIT.

    THE APPARITION.

    THE BROKEN HEART.

    A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING.

    THE ECSTACY.

    LOVE’S DEITY.

    LOVE’S DIET.

    THE WILL.

    THE FUNERAL.

    THE BLOSSOM.

    THE PRIMROSE

    THE RELIC.

    THE DAMP.

    THE DISSOLUTION.

    A JET RING SENT.

    NEGATIVE LOVE.

    THE PROHIBITION.

    THE EXPIRATION.

    THE COMPUTATION.

    THE PARADOX.

    SOUL’S JOY, NOW I AM GONE.

    FAREWELL TO LOVE.

    A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW.

    A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR HENRY WOTTON AND MR. DONNE.

    THE TOKEN.

    SELF-LOVE.

    THE FLEA.

    MARK but this flea, and mark in this,

    How little that which thou deniest me is;

    It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee,

    And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.

    Thou know’st that this cannot be said

    A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;

        Yet this enjoys before it woo,

        And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two;

        And this, alas! is more than we would do.

    O stay, three lives in one flea spare,

    Where we almost, yea, more than married are.

    This flea is you and I, and this

    Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.

    Though parents grudge, and you, we’re met,

    And cloister’d in these living walls of jet.

        Though use make you apt to kill me,

        Let not to that self-murder added be,

        And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

    Cruel and sudden, hast thou since

    Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?

    Wherein could this flea guilty be,

    Except in that drop which it suck’d from thee?

    Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou

    Find’st not thyself nor me the weaker now.

    ‘Tis true; then learn how false fears be;

    Just so much honour, when thou yield’st to me,

    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

    THE GOOD-MORROW.

    I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I

    Did, till we loved? were we not wean’d till then?

    But suck’d on country pleasures, childishly?

    Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers’ den?

    ‘Twas so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;

    If ever any beauty I did see,

    Which I desired, and got, ‘twas but a dream of thee.

    And now good-morrow to our waking souls,

    Which watch not one another out of fear;

    For love all love of other sights controls,

    And makes one little room an everywhere.

    Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone;

    Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown;

    Let us possess one world; each hath one, and is one.

    My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,

    And true plain hearts do in the faces rest;

    Where can we find two better hemispheres

    Without sharp north, without declining west?

    Whatever dies, was not mix’d equally;

    If our two loves be one, or thou and I

    Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

    GO AND CATCH A FALLING STAR.

    GO and catch a falling star,

    Get with child a mandrake root,

    Tell me where all past years are,

    Or who cleft the devil’s foot,

    Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

    Or to keep off envy’s stinging,

           And find

           What wind

    Serves to advance an honest mind.

    If thou be’st born to strange sights,

    Things invisible to see,

    Ride ten thousand days and nights,

    Till age snow white hairs on thee,

    Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,

    All strange wonders that befell thee,

           And swear,

           No where

    Lives a woman true and fair.

    If thou find’st one, let me know,

    Such a pilgrimage were sweet;

    Yet do not, I would not go,

    Though at next door we might meet,

    Though she were true, when you met her,

    And last, till you write your letter,

           Yet she

           Will be

    False, ere I come, to two, or three.

    WOMAN’S CONSTANCY.

    NOW thou hast loved me one whole day,

    To-morrow when thou leavest, what wilt thou say?

    Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow?

           Or say that now

    We are not just those persons which we were?

    Or that oaths made in reverential fear

    Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear?

    Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,

    So lovers’ contracts, images of those,

    Bind but till sleep, death’s image, them unloose?

           Or, your own end to justify,

    For having purposed change and falsehood, you

    Can have no way but falsehood to be true?

    Vain lunatic, against these ‘scapes I could

           Dispute, and conquer, if I would;

           Which I abstain to do,

    For by to-morrow I may think so too.

    THE UNDERTAKING.

    I HAVE done one braver thing

          Than all the Worthies did;

    And yet a braver thence doth spring,

          Which is, to keep that hid.

    It were but madness now to impart

          The skill of specular stone,

    When he, which can have learn’d the art

          To cut it, can find none.

    So, if I now should utter this,

          Others — because no more

    Such stuff to work upon, there is —

          Would love but as before.

    But he who loveliness within

          Hath found, all outward loathes,

    For he who color loves, and skin,

          Loves but their oldest clothes.

    If, as I have, you also do

          Virtue in woman see,

    And dare love that, and say so too,

          And forget the He and She;

    And if this love, though placèd so,

          From profane men you hide,

    Which will no faith on this bestow,

          Or, if they do, deride;

    Then you have done a braver thing

          Than all the Worthies did;

    And a braver thence will spring,

          Which is, to keep that hid.

    THE SUN RISING.

       BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,

       Why dost thou thus,

    Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?

    Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?

       Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

       Late school-boys and sour prentices,

        Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,

        Call country ants to harvest offices;

    Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

    Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

       Thy beams so reverend, and strong

       Why shouldst thou think?

    I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,

    But that I would not lose her sight so long.

       If her eyes have not blinded thine,

       Look, and to-morrow late tell me,

        Whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine

        Be where thou left’st them, or lie here with me.

    Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,

    And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.

       She’s all states, and all princes I;

       Nothing else is;

    Princes do but play us; compared to this,

    All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.

       Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,

       In that the world’s contracted thus;

        Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be

        To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.

    Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

    This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

    THE INDIFFERENT.

    I CAN love both fair and brown;

    Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays;

    Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays;

    Her whom the country form’d, and whom the town;

    Her who believes, and her who tries;

    Her who still weeps with spongy eyes,

    And her who is dry cork, and never cries.

    I can love her, and her, and you, and you;

    I can love any, so she be not true.

    Will no other vice content you?

    Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers?

    Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others?

    Or doth a fear that men are true torment you?

    O we are not, be not you so;

    Let me — and do you — twenty know;

    Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go.

    Must I, who came to travel thorough you,

    Grow your fix’d subject, because you are true?

    Venus heard me sigh this song;

    And by love’s sweetest part, variety, she swore,

    She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more.

    She went, examined, and return’d ere long,

    And said, "Alas! some two or three

    Poor heretics in love there be,

    Which think to stablish dangerous constancy.

    But I have told them, ‘Since you will be true,

    You shall be true to them who’re false to you.’ "

    LOVE’S USURY.

    FOR every hour that thou wilt spare me now,

           I will allow,

    Usurious god of love, twenty to thee,

    When with my brown my gray hairs equal be.

    Till then, Love, let my body range, and let

    Me travel, sojourn, snatch, plot, have, forget,

    Resume my last year’s relict; think that yet

           We’d never met.

    Let me think any rival’s letter mine,

           And at next nine

    Keep midnight’s promise; mistake by the way

    The maid, and tell the lady of that delay;

    Only let me love none; no, not the sport

    From country grass to confitures of court,

    Or city’s quelque-choses; let not report

           My mind transport.

    This bargain’s good; if when I’m old, I be

           Inflamed by thee,

    If thine own honour, or my shame and pain,

    Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain.

    Do thy will then; then subject and degree

    And fruit of love, Love, I submit to thee.

    Spare me till then; I’ll bear it, though she be

           One that love me.

    THE CANONIZATION.

    FOR God’s sake hold your tongue, and let me love;

        Or chide my palsy, or my gout;

        My five gray hairs, or ruin’d fortune flout;

    With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve;

       Take you a course, get you a place,

       Observe his Honour, or his Grace;

    Or the king’s real, or his stamp’d face

        Contemplate; what you will, approve,

        So you will let me love.

    Alas! alas! who’s injured by my love?

        What merchant’s ships have my sighs drown’d?

        Who says my tears have overflow’d his ground?

    When did my colds a forward spring remove?

       When did the heats which my veins fill

       Add one more to the plaguy bill?

    Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still

        Litigious men, which quarrels move,

        Though she and I do love.

    Call’s what you will, we are made such by love;

        Call her one, me another fly,

        We’re tapers too, and at our own cost die,

    And we in us find th’ eagle and the dove.

       The phoenix riddle hath more wit

       By us; we two being one, are it;

    So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit.

        We die and rise the same, and prove

        Mysterious by this love.

    We can die by it, if not live by love,

        And if unfit for tomb or hearse

        Our legend be, it will be fit for verse;

    And if no piece of chronicle we prove,

       We’ll build in sonnets pretty rooms;

       As well a well-wrought urn becomes

    The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs,

        And by these hymns, all shall approve

        Us canonized for love;

    And thus invoke us, "You, whom reverend love

        Made one another’s hermitage;

        You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage;

    Who did the whole world’s soul contract, and drove

       Into the glasses of your eyes;

       So made such mirrors, and such spies,

    That they did all to you epitomize —

        Countries, towns, courts beg from above

        A pattern of your love."

    THE TRIPLE FOOL.

        I am two fools, I know,

        For loving, and for saying so

       In whining poetry;

    But where’s that wise man, that would not be I,

       If she would not deny?

    Then as th’ earth’s inward narrow crooked lanes

        Do purge sea water’s fretful salt away,

    I thought, if I could draw my pains

        Through rhyme’s vexation, I should them allay.

    Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce,

    For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.

        But when I have done so,

        Some man, his art and voice to show,

       Doth set and sing my pain;

    And, by delighting many, frees again

       Grief, which verse did restrain.

    To love and grief tribute of verse belongs,

        But not of such as pleases when ‘tis read.

    Both are increasèd by such songs,

        For both their triumphs so are published,

    And I, which was two fools, do so grow three.

    Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

    LOVERS’ INFINITENESS.

    IF yet I have not all thy love,

    Dear, I shall never have it all;

    I cannot breathe one other sigh, to move,

    Nor can intreat one other tear to fall;

    And all my treasure, which should purchase thee,

    Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent;

    Yet no more can be due to me,

    Than at the bargain made was meant.

    If then thy gift of love were partial,

    That some to me, some should to others fall,

        Dear, I shall never have thee all.

    Or if then thou gavest me all,

    All was but all, which thou hadst then;

    But if in thy heart since there be or shall

    New love created be by other men,

    Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,

    In sighs, in oaths, and letters, outbid me,

    This new love may beget new fears,

    For this love was not vow’d by thee.

    And yet it was, thy gift being general;

    The ground, thy heart, is mine; what ever shall

        Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

    Yet I would not have all yet.

    He that hath all can have no more;

    And since my love doth every day admit

    New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;

    Thou canst not every day give me thy heart,

    If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it;

    Love’s riddles are, that though thy heart depart,

    It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it;

    But we will have a way more liberal,

    Than changing hearts, to join them; so we shall

        Be one, and one another’s all.

    SWEETEST LOVE, I DO NOT GO

    SWEETEST love, I do not go,

        For weariness of thee,

    Nor in hope the world can show

        A fitter love for me;

       But since that I

    At the last must part, ‘tis best,

    Thus to use myself in jest

        By feigned deaths to die.

    Yesternight the sun went hence,

        And yet is here to-day;

    He hath no desire nor sense,

        Nor half so short a way;

       Then fear not me,

    But believe that I shall make

    Speedier journeys, since I take

        More wings and spurs than he.

    O how feeble is man’s power,

        That if good fortune fall,

    Cannot add another hour,

        Nor a lost hour recall;

       But come bad chance,

    And we join to it our strength,

    And we teach it art and length,

        Itself o’er us to advance.

    When thou sigh’st, thou sigh’st not wind,

        But sigh’st my soul away;

    When thou weep’st, unkindly kind,

        My life’s blood doth decay.

       It cannot be

    That thou lovest me as thou say’st,

    If in thine my life thou waste,

        That art the best of me.

    Let not thy divining heart

        Forethink me any ill;

    Destiny may take thy part,

        And may thy fears fulfil.

       But think that we

    Are but turn’d aside to sleep.

    They who one another keep

        Alive, ne’er parted be.

    THE LEGACY.

    WHEN last I died, and, dear, I die

    As often as from thee I go,

    Though it be but an hour ago

     — And lovers’ hours be full eternity —

    I can remember yet, that I

    Something did say, and something did bestow;

    Though I be dead, which sent me, I might be

    Mine own executor, and legacy.

    I heard me say, "Tell her anon,

    That myself," that is you, not I,

    Did kill me, and when I felt me die,

    I bid me send my heart, when I was gone;

    But I alas! could there find none;

    When I had ripp’d, and search’d where hearts should lie,

    It kill’d me again, that I who still was true

    In life, in my last will should cozen you.

    Yet I found something like a heart,

    But colours it, and corners had;

    It was not good, it was not bad,

    It was entire to none, and few had part;

    As good as could be made by art

    It seem’d, and therefore for our loss be sad.

    I meant to send that heart instead of mine,

    But O! no man could hold it, for ‘twas thine.

    A FEVER.

    O! DO not die, for I shall hate

        All women so, when thou art gone,

    That thee I shall not celebrate,

        When I remember thou wast one.

    But yet thou canst not die, I know;

        To leave this world behind, is death;

    But when thou from this world wilt go,

        The whole world vapours with thy breath.

    Or if, when thou, the world’s soul, go’st,

        It stay, ‘tis but thy carcase then;

    The fairest woman, but thy ghost,

        But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.

    O wrangling schools, that search what fire

        Shall burn this world, had none the wit

    Unto this knowledge to aspire,

        That this her feaver might be it?

    And yet she cannot waste by this,

        Nor long bear this torturing wrong,

    For more corruption needful is,

        To fuel such a fever long.

    These burning fits but meteors be,

        Whose matter in thee is soon spent;

    Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,

        Are unchangeable firmament.

    Yet ‘twas of my mind, seizing thee,

        Though it in thee cannot perséver;

    For I had rather owner be

        Of thee one hour, than all else ever.

    AIR AND ANGELS.

    TWICE or thrice had I loved thee,

        Before I knew thy face or name;

        So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame

    Angels affect us oft, and worshipp’d be.

        Still when, to where thou wert, I came,

    Some lovely glorious nothing did I see.

        But since my soul, whose child love is,

    Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,

        More subtle than the parent is

    Love must not be, but take a body too;

        And therefore what thou wert, and who,

       I bid Love ask, and now

    That it assume thy body, I allow,

    And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

    Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,

        And so more steadily to have gone,

        With wares which would sink admiration,

    I saw I had love’s pinnace overfraught;

        Thy every hair for love to work upon

    Is much too much; some fitter must be sought;

        For, nor in nothing, nor in things

    Extreme, and scattering bright, can love inhere;

        Then as an angel face and wings

    Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear,

        So thy love may be my love’s sphere;

       Just such disparity

    As is ‘twixt air’s and angels’ purity,

    ‘Twixt women’s love, and men’s, will ever be. BREAK OF DAY.

    STAY, O sweet, and do not rise;

    The light that shines comes from thine eyes;

    The day breaks not, it is my heart,

    Because that you and I must part.

        Stay, or else my joys will die,

        And perish in their infancy.

    BREAK OF DAY.

    ‘TIS true, ‘tis day; what though it be?

    O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?

    Why should we rise because ‘tis light?

    Did we lie down because ‘twas night?

    Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,

    Should in despite of light keep us together.

    Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;

    If it could speak as well as spy,

    This were the worst that it could say,

    That being well I fain would stay,

    And that I loved my heart and honour so

    That I would not from him, that had them, go.

    Must business thee from hence remove?

    O! that’s the worst disease of love,

    The poor, the foul, the false, love can

    Admit, but not the busied man.

    He which hath business, and makes love, doth do

    Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.

    THE ANNIVERSARY.

        ALL kings, and all their favourites,

        All glory of honours, beauties, wits,

    The sun it self, which makes time, as they pass,

    Is elder by a year now than it was

    When thou and I first one another saw.

    All other things to their destruction draw,

        Only our love hath no decay;

    This no to-morrow hath, nor yesterday;

    Running it never runs from us away,

    But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

        Two graves must hide thine and my corse;

        If one might, death were no divorce.

    Alas! as well as other princes, we

     — Who prince enough in one another be —

    Must leave at last in death these eyes and ears,

    Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears;

        But souls where nothing dwells but love

     — All other thoughts being inmates — then shall prove

    This or a love increasèd there above,

    When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves remove.

        And then we shall be throughly blest;

        But now no more than all the rest.

    Here upon earth we’re kings, and none but we

    Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be.

    Who is so safe as we? where none can do

    Treason to us, except one of us two.

        True and false fears let us refrain,

    Let us love nobly, and live, and add again

    Years and years unto years, till we attain

    To write threescore; this is the second of our reign.

    A VALEDICTION OF MY NAME, IN THE WINDOW.

    I.

       MY name engraved herein

    Doth contribute my firmness to this glass,

        Which ever since that charm hath been

        As hard, as that which graved it was;

    Thine eye will give it price enough, to mock

       The diamonds of either rock.

    II.

       ‘Tis much that glass should be

    As all-confessing, and through-shine as I;

        ‘Tis more that it shows thee to thee,

        And clear reflects thee to thine eye.

    But all such rules love’s magic can undo;

       Here you see me, and I am you.

    III.

       As no one point, nor dash,

    Which are but accessories to this name,

        The showers and tempests can outwash

        So shall all times find me the same;

    You this entireness better may fulfill,

       Who have the pattern with you still.

    IV.

       Or if too hard and deep

    This learning be, for a scratch’d name to teach,

        It as a given death’s head keep,

        Lovers’ mortality to preach;

    Or think this ragged bony name to be

       My ruinous anatomy.

    V.

       Then, as all my souls be

    Emparadised in you — in whom alone

        I understand, and grow, and see —

        The rafters of my body, bone,

    Being still with you, the muscle, sinew, and vein

       Which tile this house, will come again.

    VI.

       Till my return repair

    And recompact my scatter’d body so,

        As all the virtuous powers which are

        Fix’d in the stars are said to flow

    Into such characters as gravèd be

       When these stars have supremacy.

    VII.

       So since this name was cut,

    When love and grief their exaltation had,

        No door ‘gainst this name’s influence shut.

        As much more loving, as more sad,

    ‘Twill make thee; and thou shouldst, till I return,

       Since I die daily, daily mourn.

    VIII.

       When thy inconsiderate hand

    Flings open this casement, with my trembling name,

        To look on one, whose wit or land

        New battery to thy heart may frame,

    Then think this name alive, and that thou thus

       In it offend’st my Genius.

    IX.

       And when thy melted maid,

    Corrupted by thy lover’s gold and page,

        His letter at thy pillow hath laid,

        Disputed it, and tamed thy rage,

    And thou begin’st to thaw towards him, for this,

       May my name step in, and hide his.

    X.

       And if this treason go

    To an overt act and that thou write again,

        In superscribing, this name flow

        Into thy fancy from the pane;

    So, in forgetting thou rememb’rest right,

       And unaware to me shalt write.

    XI.

       But glass and lines must be

    No means our firm substantial love to keep;

        Near death inflicts this lethargy,

        And this I murmur in my sleep;

    Inpute this idle talk, to that I go,

       For dying men talk often so.

    TWICKENHAM GARDEN.

    BLASTED with sighs, and surrounded with tears,

        Hither I come to seek the spring,

    And at mine eyes, and at mine ears,

        Receive such balms as else cure every thing.

        But O! self-traitor, I do bring

    The spider Love, which transubstantiates all,

    And can convert manna to gall;

    And that this place may thoroughly be thought

    True paradise, I have the serpent brought.

    ‘Twere wholesomer for me that winter did

        Benight the glory of this place,

    And that a grave frost did forbid

        These trees to laugh and mock me to my face;

        But that I may not this disgrace

    Endure, nor yet leave loving, Love, let me

    Some senseless piece of this place be;

    Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here,

    Or a stone fountain weeping out my year.

    Hither with crystal phials, lovers, come,

        And take my tears, which are love’s wine,

    And try your mistress’ tears at home,

        For all are false, that taste not just like mine.

        Alas! hearts do not in eyes shine,

    Nor can you more judge women’s thoughts by tears,

    Than by her shadow what she wears.

    O perverse sex, where none is true but she,

    Who’s therefore true, because her truth kills me.

    VALEDICTION TO HIS BOOK.

    I’LL tell thee now (dear love) what thou shalt do

        To anger destiny, as she doth us;

        How I shall stay, though she eloign me thus,

    And how posterity shall know it too;

           How thine may out-endure

           Sibyl’s glory, and obscure

           Her who from Pindar could allure,

    And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame,

    And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find, and name.

    Study our manuscripts, those myriads

        Of letters, which have past ‘twixt thee and me;

        Thence write our annals, and in them will be

    To all whom love’s subliming fire invades,

           Rule and example found;

           There the faith of any ground

           No schismatic will dare to wound,

    That sees, how Love this grace to us affords,

    To make, to keep, to use, to be these his records.

    This book, as long-lived as the elements,

        Or as the world’s form, this all-gravèd tome

        In cypher writ, or new made idiom;

    We for Love’s clergy only are instruments;

           When this book is made thus,

           Should again the ravenous

           Vandals and Goths invade us,

    Learning were safe; in this our universe,

    Schools might learn sciences, spheres music, angels verse.

    Here Love’s divines — since all divinity

        Is love or wonder — may find all they seek,

        Whether abstract spiritual love they like,

    Their souls exhaled with what they do not see;

           Or, loth so to amuse

           Faith’s infirmity, they choose

           Something which they may see and use;

    For, though mind be the heaven, where love doth sit,

    Beauty a convenient type may be to figure it.

    Here more than in their books may lawyers find,

        Both by what titles mistresses are ours,

        And how prerogative these states devours,

    Transferr’d from Love himself, to womankind;

           Who, though from heart and eyes,

           They exact great subsidies,

           Forsake him who on them relies;

    And for the cause, honour, or conscience give;

    Chimeras vain as they or their prerogative.

    Here statesmen — or of them, they which can read —

        May of their occupation find the grounds;

        Love, and their art, alike it deadly wounds,

    If to consider what ‘tis, one proceed.

           In both they do excel

           Who the present govern well,

           Whose weakness none doth, or dares tell;

    In this thy book, such will there something see,

    As in the Bible some can find out alchemy.

    Thus vent thy thoughts; abroad I’ll study thee,

        As he removes far off, that great heights takes;

        How great love is, presence best trial makes,

    But absence tries how long this love will be;

           To take a latitude

           Sun, or stars, are fitliest view’d

           At their brightest, but to conclude

    Of longitudes, what other way have we,

    But to mark when and where the dark eclipses be?

    COMMUNITY.

    GOOD we must love, and must hate ill,

    For ill is ill, and good good still;

        But there are things indifferent,

    Which wee may neither hate, nor love,

    But one, and then another prove,

        As we shall find our fancy bent.

    If then at first wise Nature had

    Made women either good or bad,

        Then some wee might hate, and some choose;

    But since she did them so create,

    That we may neither love, nor hate,

        Only this rests, all all may use.

    If they were good it would be seen;

    Good is as visible as green,

        And to all eyes itself betrays.

    If they were bad, they could not last;

    Bad doth itself, and others waste;

        So they deserve nor blame, nor praise.

    But they are ours as fruits are ours;

    He that but tastes, he that devours,

        And he that leaves all, doth as well;

    Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat;

    And when he hath the kernel eat,

        Who doth not fling away the shell?

    LOVE’S GROWTH.

    I SCARCE believe my love to be so pure

          As I had thought it was,

          Because it doth endure

    Vicissitude, and season, as the grass;

    Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore

    My love was infinite, if spring make it more.

    But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow

        With more, not only be no quintessence,

        But mix’d of all stuffs, vexing soul, or sense,

    And of the sun his active vigour borrow,

    Love’s not so pure, and abstract as they use

    To say, which have no mistress but their Muse;

    But as all else, being elemented too,

    Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

    And yet no greater, but more eminent,

          Love by the spring is grown;

          As in the firmament

    Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown,

    Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough,

    From love’s awakened root do bud out now.

    If, as in water stirr’d more circles be

        Produced by one, love such additions take,

        Those like so many spheres but one heaven make,

    For they are all concentric unto thee;

    And though each spring do add to love new heat,

    As princes do in times of action get

    New taxes, and remit them not in peace,

    No winter shall abate this spring’s increase.

    LOVE’S EXCHANGE.

    LOVE, any devil else but you

    Would for a given soul give something too.

    At court your fellows every day

    Give th’ art of rhyming, huntsmanship, or play,

    For them which were their own before;

    Only I have nothing, which gave more,

    But am, alas! by being lowly, lower.

    I ask no dispensation now,

    To falsify a tear, or sigh, or vow;

    I do not sue from thee to draw

    A  non obstante on nature’s law;

    These are prerogatives, they inhere

    In thee and thine; none should forswear

    Except that he Love’s minion were.

    Give me thy weakness, make me blind,

    Both ways, as thou and thine, in eyes and mind;

    Love, let me never know that this

    Is love, or, that love childish is;

    Let me not know that others know

    That she knows my paines, lest that so

    A tender shame make me mine own new woe.

    If thou give nothing, yet thou ‘rt just,

    Because I would not thy first motions trust;

    Small towns which stand stiff, till great shot

    Enforce them, by war’s law condition not;

    Such in Love’s warfare is my case;

    I may not article for grace,

    Having put Love at last to show this face.

    This face, by which he could command

    And change th’ idolatry of any land,

    This face, which, wheresoe’er it comes,

    Can call vow’d men from cloisters, dead from tombs,

    And melt both poles at once, and store

    Deserts with cities, and make more

    Mines in the earth, than quarries were before.

    For this Love is enraged with me,

    Yet kills not; if I must example be

    To future rebels, if th’ unborn

    Must learn by my being cut up and torn,

    Kill, and dissect me, Love; for this

    Torture against thine own end is;

    Rack’d carcasses make ill anatomies.

    CONFINED LOVE.

        Some man unworthy to be possessor

    Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,

        Thought his pain and shame would be lesser,

    If on womankind he might his anger wreak;

       And thence a law did grow,

       One might but one man know;

       But are other creatures so?

        Are sun, moon, or stars by law forbidden

    To smile where they list, or lend away their light?

        Are birds divorced or are they chidden

    If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a night?

       Beasts do no jointures lose

       Though they new lovers choose;

       But we are made worse than those.

        Who e’er rigg’d fair ships to lie in harbours,

    And not to seek lands, or not to deal with all?

        Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbours,

    Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?

       Good is not good, unless

       A thousand it possess,

       But doth waste with greediness.

    THE DREAM.

    DEAR love, for nothing less than thee

    Would I have broke this happy dream;

          It was a theme

    For reason, much too strong for fantasy.

    Therefore thou waked’st me wisely; yet

    My dream thou brokest not, but continued’st it.

    Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice

    To make dreams truths, and fables histories;

    Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best,

    Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.

    As lightning, or a taper’s light,

    Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me;

          Yet I thought thee

     — For thou lovest truth — an angel, at first sight;

    But when I saw thou saw’st my heart,

    And knew’st my thoughts beyond an angel’s art,

    When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when

    Excess of joy would wake me, and camest then,

    I must confess, it could not choose but be

    Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.

    Coming and staying show’d thee, thee,

    But rising makes me doubt, that now

          Thou art not thou.

    That love is weak where fear’s as strong as he;

    ‘Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,

    If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;

    Perchance as torches, which must ready be,

    Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me;

    Thou camest to kindle, go’st to come; then I

    Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

    A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING.

          LET me pour forth

    My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,

    For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,

    And by this mintage they are something worth.

          For thus they be

          Pregnant of thee;

    Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more;

    When a tear falls, that thou fall’st which it bore;

    So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.

          On a round ball

    A workman, that hath copies by, can lay

    An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,

    And quickly make that, which was nothing, all.

          So doth each tear,

          Which thee doth wear,

    A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,

    Till thy tears mix’d with mine do overflow

    This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolvèd so.

          O! more than moon,

    Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere;

    Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear

    To teach the sea, what it may do too soon;

          Let not the wind

          Example find

    To do me more harm than it purposeth:

    Since thou and I sigh one another’s breath,

    Whoe’er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other’s death.

    LOVE’S ALCHEMY.

    Some that have deeper digg’d love’s mine than I,

    Say, where his centric happiness doth lie.

       I have loved, and got, and told,

    But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,

    I should not find that hidden mystery.

       O! ‘tis imposture all;

    And as no chemic yet th’ elixir got,

       But glorifies his pregnant pot,

       If by the way to him befall

    Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,

        So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,

        But get a winter-seeming summer’s night.

    Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,

    Shall we for this vain bubble’s shadow pay?

       Ends love in this, that my man

    Can be as happy as I can, if he can

    Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom’s play?

       That loving wretch that swears,

    ‘Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,

       Which he in her angelic finds,

       Would swear as justly, that he hears,

    In that day’s rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.

        Hope not for mind in women; at their best,

        Sweetness and wit they are, but mummy, possess’d.

    THE CURSE.

    WHOEVER guesses, thinks, or dreams, he knows

    Who is my mistress, wither by this curse;

           Him, only for his purse

           May some dull whore to love dispose,

    And then yield unto all that are his foes;

        May he be scorn’d by one, whom all else scorn,

        Forswear to others, what to her he hath sworn,

        With fear of missing, shame of getting, torn.

    Madness his sorrow, gout his cramps, may he

    Make, by but thinking who hath made him such;

           And may he feel no touch

           Of conscience, but of fame, and be

    Anguish’d, not that ‘twas sin, but that ‘twas she;

        Or may he for her virtue reverence

        One that hates him only for impotence,

        And equal traitors be she and his sense.

    May he dream treason, and believe that he

    Meant to perform it, and confesses, and die,

           And no record tell why;

           His sons, which none of his may be,

    Inherit nothing but his infamy;

        Or may he so long parasites have fed,

        That he would fain be theirs whom he hath bred,

        And at the last be circumcised for bread.

    The venom of all stepdames, gamesters’ gall,

    What tyrants and their subjects interwish,

           What plants, mine, beasts, fowl, fish,

           Can contribute, all ill, which all

    Prophets or poets spake, and all which shall

        Be annex’d in schedules unto this by me,

        Fall on that man; For if it be a she

        Nature beforehand hath out-cursèd me.

    THE MESSAGE.

    SEND home my long stray’d eyes to me,

    Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee;

    Yet since there they have learn’d such ill,

      Such forced fashions,

      And false passions,

        That they be

        Made by thee

    Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

    Send home my harmless heart again,

    Which no unworthy thought could stain;

    Which if it be taught by thine

      To make jestings

      Of protestings,

        And break both

        Word and oath,

    Keep it, for then ‘tis none of mine.

    Yet send me back my heart and eyes,

    That I may know, and see thy lies,

    And may laugh and joy, when thou

      Art in anguish

      And dost languish

        For some one

        That will none,

    Or prove as false as thou art now.

    A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY’S DAY, BEING THE SHORTEST DAY.

    ‘TIS the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,

    Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;

        The sun is spent, and now his flasks

        Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;

           The world’s whole sap is sunk;

    The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk,

    Whither, as to the bed’s-feet, life is shrunk,

    Dead and interr’d; yet all these seem to laugh,

    Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

    Study me then, you who shall lovers be

    At the next world, that is, at the next spring;

        For I am every dead thing,

        In whom Love wrought new alchemy.

           For his art did express

    A quintessence even from nothingness,

    From dull privations, and lean emptiness;

    He ruin’d me, and I am re-begot

    Of absence, darkness, death — things which are not.

    All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,

    Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;

        I, by Love’s limbec, am the grave

        Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood

           Have we two wept, and so

    Drown’d the whole world, us two; oft did we grow,

    To be two chaoses, when we did show

    Care to aught else; and often absences

    Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

    But I am by her death — which word wrongs her —

    Of the first nothing the elixir grown;

        Were I a man, that I were one

        I needs must know; I should prefer,

           If I were any beast,

    Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,

    And love; all, all some properties invest.

    If I an ordinary nothing were,

    As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

    But I am none; nor will my sun renew.

    You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun

        At this time to the Goat is run

        To fetch new lust, and give it you,

           Enjoy your summer all,

    Since she enjoys her long night’s festival.

    Let me prepare towards her, and let me call

    This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this

    Both the year’s and the day’s deep midnight is.

    WITCHCRAFT BY A PICTURE.

    I FIX mine eye on thine, and there

        Pity my picture burning in thine eye;

    My picture drown’d in a transparent tear,

        When I look lower I espy;

       Hadst thou the wicked skill

    By pictures made and marr’d, to kill,

    How many ways mightst thou perform thy will?

    But now I’ve drunk thy sweet salt tears,

        And though thou pour more, I’ll depart;

    My picture vanished, vanish all fears

        That I can be endamaged by that art;

       Though thou retain of me

    One picture more, yet that will be,

    Being in thine own heart, from all malice free.

    THE BAIT.

    COME live with me, and be my love,

    And we will some new pleasures prove

    Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,

    With silken lines and silver hooks.

    There will the river whisp’ring run

    Warm’d by thy eyes, more than the sun;

    And there th’ enamour’d fish will stay,

    Begging themselves they may betray.

    When thou wilt swim in that live bath,

    Each fish, which every channel hath,

    Will amorously to thee swim,

    Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

    If thou, to be so seen, be’st loth,

    By sun or moon, thou dark’nest both,

    And if myself have leave to see,

    I need not their light, having thee.

    Let others freeze with angling reeds,

    And cut their legs with shells and weeds,

    Or treacherously poor fish beset,

    With strangling snare, or windowy net.

    Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest

    The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;

    Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,

    Bewitch poor fishes’ wand’ring eyes.

    For thee, thou need’st no such deceit,

    For thou thyself art thine own bait:

    That fish, that is not catch’d thereby,

    Alas! is wiser far than I.

    THE APPARITION.

    WHEN by thy scorn, O murd’ress, I am dead,

    And that thou thinkst thee free

    From all solicitation from me,

    Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,

    And thee, feign’d vestal, in worse arms shall see:

    Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,

    And he, whose thou art then, being tired before,

    Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think

         Thou call’st for more,

    And, in false sleep, will from thee shrink:

    And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou

    Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie,

         A verier ghost than I.

    What I will say, I will not tell thee now,

    Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent,

    I’d rather thou shouldst painfully repent,

    Than by my threatenings rest still innocent.

    THE BROKEN HEART.

    He is stark mad, whoever says,

        That he hath been in love an hour,

    Yet not that love so soon decays,

        But that it can ten in less space devour;

    Who will believe me, if I swear

    That I have had the plague a year?

        Who would not laugh at me, if I should say

        I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

    Ah, what a trifle is a heart,

        If once into love’s hands it come!

    All other griefs allow a part

        To other griefs, and ask themselves but some;

    They come to us, but us love draws;

    He swallows us and never chaws;

        By him, as by chain’d shot, whole ranks do die;

        He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

    If ‘twere not so, what did become

        Of my heart when I first saw thee?

    I brought a heart into the room,

        But from the room I carried none with me.

    If it had gone to thee, I know

    Mine would have taught thine heart to show

        More pity unto me; but Love, alas!

        At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

    Yet nothing can to nothing fall,

        Nor any place be empty quite;

    Therefore I think my breast hath all

        Those pieces still, though they be not unite;

    And now, as broken glasses show

    A hundred lesser faces, so

        My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,

        But after one such love, can love no more.

    A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING.

    AS virtuous men pass mildly away, 

        And whisper to their souls to go, 

    Whilst some of their sad friends do say,

        Now his breath goes, and some say, No.

    So let us melt, and make no noise,    5

        No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

    ‘Twere profanation of our joys 

        To tell the laity our love. 

    Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears;

        Men reckon what it did, and meant;  10

    But trepidation of the spheres, 

        Though greater far, is innocent. 

    Dull sublunary lovers’ love 

        — Whose soul is sense — cannot admit 

    Of absence, ‘cause it doth remove  15

        The thing which elemented it. 

    But we by a love so much refined,

        That ourselves know not what it is, 

    Inter-assurèd of the mind, 

        Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.      20

    Our two souls therefore, which are one, 

        Though I must go, endure not yet 

    A breach, but an expansion, 

        Like gold to aery thinness beat. 

    If they be two, they are two so25

        As stiff twin compasses are two; 

    Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show 

        To move, but doth, if th’ other do. 

    And though it in the centre sit, 

        Yet, when the other far doth roam,    30

    It leans, and hearkens after it, 

        And grows erect, as that comes home. 

    Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

        Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;

    Thy firmness makes my circle just, 35

        And makes me end where I begun. 

    THE ECSTACY.

    WHERE, like a pillow on a bed,

        A pregnant bank swell’d up, to rest

    The violet’s reclining head,

        Sat we two, one another’s best.

    Our hands were firmly cemented

        By a fast balm, which thence did spring;

    Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread

        Our eyes upon one double string.

    So to engraft our hands, as yet

        Was all the means to make us one;

    And pictures in our eyes to get

        Was all our propagation.

    As, ‘twixt two equal armies, Fate

        Suspends uncertain victory,

    Our souls — which to advance their state,

        Were gone out — hung ‘twixt her and me.

    And whilst our souls negotiate there,

        We like sepulchral statues lay;

    All day, the same our postures were,

        And we said nothing, all the day.

    If any, so by love refined,

        That he soul’s language understood,

    And by good love were grown all mind,

        Within convenient distance stood,

    He — though he knew not which soul spake,

        Because both meant, both spake the same —

    Might thence a new concoction take,

        And part far purer than he came.

    This ecstasy doth unperplex

        (We said) and tell us what we love;

    We see by this, it was not sex;

        We see, we saw not, what did move:

    But as all several souls contain

        Mixture of things they know not what,

    Love these mix’d souls doth mix again,

        And makes both one, each this, and that.

    A single violet transplant,

        The strength, the colour, and the size —

    All which before was poor and scant —

        Redoubles still, and multiplies.

    When love with one another so

        Interanimates two souls,

    That abler soul, which thence doth flow,

        Defects of loneliness controls.

    We then, who are this new soul, know,

        Of what we are composed, and made,

    For th’ atomies of which we grow

        Are souls, whom no change can invade.

    But, O alas! so long, so far,

        Our bodies why do we forbear?

    They are ours, though not we; we are

        Th’ intelligences, they the spheres.

    We owe them thanks, because they thus

        Did us, to us, at first convey,

    Yielded their senses’ force to us,

        Nor are dross to us, but allay.

    On man heaven’s influence works not so,

        But that it first imprints the air;

    For soul into the soul may flow,

        Though it to body first repair.

    As our blood labours to beget

        Spirits, as like souls as it can;

    Because such fingers need to knit

        That subtle knot, which makes us man;

    So must pure lovers’ souls descend

        To affections, and to faculties,

    Which sense may reach and apprehend,

        Else a great prince in prison lies.

    To our bodies turn we then, that so

        Weak men on love reveal’d may look;

    Love’s mysteries in souls do grow,

        But yet the body is his book.

    And if some lover, such as we,

        Have heard this dialogue of one,

    Let him still mark us, he shall see

        Small change when we’re to bodies gone.

    LOVE’S DEITY.

    I LONG to talk with some old lover’s ghost,

        Who died before the god of love was born.

    I cannot think that he, who then loved most,

        Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.

    But since this god produced a destiny,

    And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,

        I must love her that loves not me.

    Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much,

        Nor he in his young godhead practised it.

    But when an even flame two hearts did touch,

        His office was indulgently to fit

    Actives to passives. Correspondency

    Only his subject was; it cannot be

        Love, till I love her, who loves me.

    But every modern god will now extend

        His vast prerogative as far as Jove.

    To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,

        All is the purlieu of the god of love.

    O! were we waken’d by this tyranny

    To ungod this child again, it could not be

        I should love her, who loves not me.

    Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I,

        As though I felt the worst that love could do?

    Love might make me leave loving, or might try

        A deeper plague, to make her love me too;

    Which, since she loves before, I’m loth to see.

    Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,

        If she whom I love, should love me.

    LOVE’S DIET.

    TO what a cumbersome unwieldiness

    And burdenous corpulence my love had grown,

        But that I did, to make it less,

        And keep it in proportion,

    Give it a diet, made it feed upon

    That which love worst endures, discretion

    Above one sigh a day I allow’d him not,

    Of which my fortune, and my faults had part;

        And if sometimes by stealth he got

        A she sigh from my mistress’ heart,

    And thought to feast upon that, I let him see

    ‘Twas neither very sound, nor meant to me.

    If he wrung from me a tear, I brined it so

    With scorn and shame, that him it nourish’d not;

        If he suck’d hers, I let him know

        ‘Twas not a tear which he had got;

    His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat;

    For eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but sweat.

    Whatever he would dictate I writ that,

    But burnt her letters when she writ to me;

        And if that favour made him fat,

        I said, "If any title be

    Convey’d by this, ah! what doth it avail,

    To be the fortieth name in an entail?"

    Thus I reclaim’d my buzzard love, to fly

    At what, and when, and how, and where I choose.

        Now negligent of sports I lie,

        And now, as other falconers use,

    I spring a mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep;

    And the game kill’d, or lost, go talk or sleep.

    THE WILL.

        BEFORE I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe,

        Great Love, some legacies; I here bequeath

        Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see;

        If they be blind, then, Love, I give them thee;

        My tongue to Fame; to ambassadors mine ears;

           To women, or the sea, my tears;

       Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore

        By making me serve her who had twenty more,

    That I should give to none, but such as had too much before.

        My constancy I to the planets give;

        My truth to them who at the court do live;

        My ingenuity and openness,

        To Jesuits; to buffoons my pensiveness;

        My silence to any, who abroad hath been;

           My money to a Capuchin:

       Thou, Love, taught’st me, by appointing me

        To love there, where no love received can be,

    Only to give to such as have an incapacity.

        My faith I give to Roman Catholics;

        All my good works unto the Schismatics

        Of Amsterdam; my best civility

        And courtship to an University;

        My modesty I give to soldiers bare;

           My patience let gamesters share:

       Thou, Love, taught’st me, by making me

        Love her that holds my love disparity,

    Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity.

        I give my reputation to those

        Which were my friends; mine industry to foes;

        To schoolmen I bequeath my doubtfulness;

        My sickness to physicians, or excess;

        To nature all that I in rhyme have writ;

           And to my company my wit:

       Thou, Love, by making me adore

        Her, who begot this love in me before,

    Taught’st me to make, as though I gave, when I do but restore.

        To him for whom the passing-bell next tolls,

        I give my physic books; my written rolls

        Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give;

        My brazen medals unto them which live

        In want of bread; to them which pass among

           All foreigners, mine English tongue:

       Though, Love, by making me love one

        Who thinks her friendship a fit portion

    For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.

        Therefore I’ll give no more, but I’ll undo

        The world by dying, because love dies too.

        Then all your beauties will be no more worth

        Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth;

        And all your graces no more use shall have,

           Than a sun-dial in a grave:

       Thou, Love, taught’st me by making me

        Love her who doth neglect both me and thee,

    To invent, and practise this one way, to annihilate all three.

    THE FUNERAL.

    WHOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm,

         Nor question much,

    That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm;

    The mystery, the sign, you must not touch;

         For ‘tis my outward soul,

    Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,

         Will leave this to control

    And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

    For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall

         Through every part

    Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,

    Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and art

         Have from a better brain,

    Can better do ‘t; except she meant that I

         By this should know my pain,

    As prisoners then are manacled, when they’re condemn’d to die.

    Whate’er she meant by it, bury it with me,

         For

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1